Batman: Forced Compliance
by Stewart M
Summary: When you have to get help in a hurry, sometimes you have to twist a few arms.


Author's Note: Unfortunately, I won't be writing another full-length Batman 1939 story in the near future. As a compromise to my readers I've decided to share a few sample scenes I've already written. Think of it like a special features section on a DVD. I intend to release at least one a week until my brainstorming folder runs out.

Story Note: **Graphic violence warning.** It would take awhile to explain the events leading to this scene. Suffice it to say, bad things have happened.

**Batman 1939: Forced Compliance  
**

* * *

The clocks struck midnight on 7th Street.

7th Street had respectability. It was an enclave of well-to-do Italians, the children of a wave of immigrants who had worked fourteen-hour days so their kids could go to school. It wasn't Millionaire's Row, but it also wasn't the slums, and when you grew up in the slums that meant everything. There were no bums or sewage in the street. A few wise guys showed up from time to time, but they kept to themselves so long as the locals did the same.

Like most rented homes on the street, Brookstone Heights apartment 24B was small but clean and well-furnished. The front door opened and a pudgy man they called Frankie Valentine walked inside, his back slumped with fatigue. It had been a long night. Frankie put his coat and hat on a hook and entered the kitchen.

Frankie Valentine looked like a door-to-door salesman who caught a few lucky breaks. He wore fancy brands a size too small and used enough cologne to stun an ox. His receding hair was lovingly combed, but he had missed a spot shaving. He was no Cary Grant (and he sure wasn't Charles Atlas), but by local standards Valentine was a classy guy - the sort of gentleman who would take his special lady to a lobster dinner and leave a nice tip.

Frankie pulled the cord on the hanging lamp above the small kitchen table. He draped his suit jacket over the back of a chair. The lamplight was dim and left the edges of the room in semidarkness. He plucked a bottle of beer from the Frigidaire and sat down, the very image of exhaustion.

As he lifted the bottle to his lips, a deep voice spoke from the shadows.

"**Fievel Volkov**."

Startled, Frankie yelled and dropped the bottle. Amber beer spilled across the white linoleum. He rose and stumbled to the counter behind him. Frantically opening drawers, he pawed around for something.

Heedless, the deep voice spoke again.

"**That unlicensed revolver is down a storm drain outside. You can find it when we're done.**"

Frankie stopped rummaging and instead grabbed a carving knife from the counter. He turned around and peered across the dim room.

"Hey! Why'd you call me that? I'm Frankie Valentine you schmuck!"

Frankie kept the knife pointed towards the furthest darkness of the voice and gingerly stepped sideways until his back was to the wall. As he tried to slow his breathing, Frankie watched a tall figure appear from the deep shadows in utter silence and stand at the edge of the lamplight. Only a few yards away, the features of the massive being were still too hazy to discern, but its silhouette was frightening - more a beast or specter than a man.

"**Fievel Tovich Volkov. Born in Milwaukee. Husband to Anya Volkov and father of three. Fabric salesman. Churchgoer. Member of the Lion's Club. Franklin Valentine is a mask you invented six years ago to hide your illicit habits from your family.**" The voice moved a step closer. "**You started as a small-time messenger: graft for union reps and bribes for beat cops. You moved up the food chain until you were the city's most respected go-between, all the while keeping both lives ignorant of the other - two names, two schedules, two homes. Your wife thinks you're on a business trip to Philadelphia tonight.**" The cold voice took an unsettling edge of admiration. "**I have to hand it to you, Volkov. Six years is an accomplishment.**"

Frankie kept the shaking knife out like a saber. A consummate negotiator, he tried to sound reasonable with a bravado he didn't feel. "Alright buddy, who sent you? Everybody knows I deal honest. I pay my dues. If somebody's angry, just say who so we can talk about it."

The figure stepped into the yellow light. Frankie's eyes budged in recognition. It was Batman.

"**I'm angry Volkov. Let's talk about it.**"

Batman's huge frame gradually blocked the lamp as he moved, darkening the room for Frankie with every step.

"You. You're the monster."

Batman nodded gravely. "**We could do this calmly. I don't need to hurt you-**" Frankie tried to stab but was met with a brutal front kick that slammed him against the wall. "**-but I prefer to.**"

The shock rattled cookware off the shelves. As Frankie slid down the wall, he was lifted by the collar. Batman turned and threw him across the room. Frankie did a half-flip, limbs wind-milling, and knocked over the table. He landed on his back like a sack of hams falling off a truck.

The Dark Knight moved to stand over the limp body.

"**Carmine Falcone, his consigliore, and five of his lieutenants are dead. The survivors of Falcone's organization and the other families are six hours away from starting a civil war to fill his shoes. Innocents will die in the crossfire.**"

Frankie spat blood, his face bruised from hitting the table. He bellowed air and after a moment managed to retort, "_Shc- Ss- Sss- _sounds like your problem."

Batman's demeanor turned icy, but he restrained himself.

"**I'm going to stop them, but I don't have time to hunt down the agitators individually.** **Frankie** **Valentine is Gotham's preeminent deal broker, the only neutral party with enough clout and owed favors to arrange a meeting with every faction on short notice. Get the leaders together in one place tonight and I can end the war before it starts.**"

Frankie frowned, "Even if I could, I don't play traitor."

"**Honor among thieves?**"

"They'd kill me."

"**Probably,**" Batman stepped on Frankie's hand. There was a raw crunch of bones fracturing. Frankie grunted. "**But if we leave now, I can neutralize them. Every last one. They'll be no one to remember your betrayal.**"

Frankie gritted his teeth and stayed defiant, "I didn't get this far by-"

Batman interrupted, gripping Frankie's crushed hand and pulling it into an armbar across his knee. The elbow strained for an instant until it broke backwards with a wet snap. Frankie howled in tremendous pain.

As he cried in agony, Batman went to the sink and filled a cup of water. He spoke calmly over Frankie's yelling, "**You can have morphine when you cooperate.**"

There was a minute of brutal yelling and crying, during which Batman stood and watched. Gradually, after many labored breaths, Frankie regained his composure. His eyes were unfocused and his voice was pained.

"_Sssss-_ These walls are paper thin. My neighbors have called the cops by now. You better get out of here."

"**In this neighborhood?**" Batman made a contemptuous noise."**Doubtful.**" He crouched, placed the water on the floor, and griped the injured arm.

Frankie begged, "No! No! No! No!" but Batman rolled the arm into a shoulder lock. This elicited more crying. Then with a simple tug, Batman dislocated the shoulder. Frankie screamed again.

Batman spoke unconcerned, "**The neighbors know Frankie Valentine pals with gangsters. If they hear yelling, it's just some stubborn fool getting his arm twisted tonight. They won't intervene.**"

Batman continued to pull and rotate the broken arm, stressing all the injured joints simultaneously. Frankie continued to scream in limitless agony and finally shouted, "_Stop! Stop!_"

Batman stopped pulling but didn't release the arm, "**We have an understanding?**"

"_Yes! Yes!_ _Just stop the pain! Please!_" There were tears down his cheeks. "_Ple-ee-esse._"

Batman let go and took a capsule from his belt. The top unscrewed to reveal a very short syringe. Roughly cupping Frankie's good arm, Batman administered the shot. He returned the syringe to his belt and swiftly lifted Frankie into a chair. Gripping the injured arm at the elbow and wrist, Batman bent it in a sudden and complicated motion. Several joints made a 'POP' as they slid back into place. Frankie screamed again and nearly fell off the chair.

As he screamed, Batman used the fallen knife to cut a length of fabric from the tablecloth and tied it into a sling. He helped Frankie to his feet and offered the water. Frankie weakly took the glass with his good hand and sipped, liquid dribbling down his chin.

Batman took the glass to the sink and retrieved a bag of frozen peas from the fridge. He had Frankie hold the bag to his bruised face with his good arm.

"**Is there anything you need to arrange your meetings? An address book or a list of passwords?**"

Frankie feebly stood, "No. S'all in my head. S'why they trust me."

Batman nodded. "**We're leaving. Walk.**"

Frankie stumbled forward, making tortured noises with every step. As they rounded the corner into the front hall, Frankie started to lean on the wall for support. Batman pulled him upright by a suspender.

"**The morphine shot had pethidine. It kicks in immediately but you need to stay awake. Otherwise I'll have to add amphetamines.**"

Frankie looked at him incredulously.

"**The combination may stop your heart.**"

Frankie whined pitifully, "I need to go to a hospital!"

Batman opened the door and pushed him through it. "**Sounds like your problem.**"


End file.
